


douse the spark, stoke the fire

by somesortofdeliciousbiscuit



Category: Luther (TV)
Genre: 3x02 coda, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode Fix-it, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 11:23:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17579915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somesortofdeliciousbiscuit/pseuds/somesortofdeliciousbiscuit
Summary: One thing is for sure: Justin doesn’t deserve to pass this night thinking that John holds him in contempt.A different take on the ending of 3x02





	douse the spark, stoke the fire

**Author's Note:**

> I know this fandom is a) tiny to begin with and b) perhaps not still around for John/Justin content seeing as it's been years since Justin took an extended holiday midway through 3x03 (don't try to convince me of anything else), but this ship has grabbed hold of me and isn't letting go, and I write to cope with my feelings.

_I’m honoured to have worked at his side._

Justin’s speech rings in John’s head the entire drive home. Muscle memory is the only thing that prevents him causing an accident along the way, considering how distracted he is by the turbulence of his thoughts. The blare of horns jolts him into action when the traffic lights change without him noticing one time and he fumbles a couple of gear changes, wincing at the cough of protest from his ancient Volvo that’s seen better days and better drivers.

None of it matters.

All that matters is the rectangle of plastic clenched between his hand and the steering wheel.

The dictaphone is irrefutable proof that there truly _is_ love in the world. Untainted and unselfish and unwavering love — the kind that he’s been searching for his whole life. It’s not his father’s conditional approval or his mother’s mercurial affection, not a love that demands him to be someone he isn’t, to get his nose out of books and his fists into boxing gloves, to not look at the boys the same way he was looking at girls at that age. It’s not Zoe’s broken vows to him, promises of everlasting love made in the dust-filled sunbeams of a church not unlike the one where he would eventually drop his ring into the collection box, the inverse of casting a penny into a fountain for a wish. It’s certainly not Alice’s dark interpretation of the emotion, the idea that a suffocating hand in an evacuated ICU counts as a grand romantic gesture.

No, Justin’s love for him is something else altogether, and John is only now beginning to grasp its nature and enormity. Some detective he is.

Why didn’t Justin _say_ anything earlier? He just stood there before John in the basement of that dingy, disused shop and he never said a word to defend himself. He let John believe that he had betrayed him. Perhaps, in his mind, he had just by being there. Perhaps he just really took that ‘shut up, Mr Ripley’ that John barked at him to heart.

One thing is for sure: Justin doesn’t deserve to pass this night thinking that John holds him in contempt. He has to go and absolve him.

As he drives, the constant feeling that he’s left something important behind has him almost making a U-turn approximately every mile, but there’s no way Justin stayed with Stark and Gray after John breezed in and out with all their hard work. John is and therefore _knows_ the obsessive type, and he could smell the alcohol on Stark’s breath. The man would have had a complete meltdown after his little ‘operation’ went sideways and Justin’s far too smart to have hung about to be on the receiving end of his rage.

So he won’t find Justin back there, and it dawns on him that he has no idea where Justin actually lives, despite having worked with him for years. The Sergeant picks up the Chief Inspector, not the other way around, and John’s never asked even half as much as he should have about Justin’s personal life.

Maybe, he thinks as he reaches his house and parks, he can ring Benny and ask him to track Justin’s phone or sneak him Justin’s address from the personnel files. It’s time to start putting a few things right.

Headlights flash behind him when he gets out of the car and John turns to see Mary Day doing the same.

“Sorry,” she says, throwing her arms out to the sides in exasperation, “what time do you call this?”

Her presence at this hour only adds further confusion to the maelstrom that is his unravelling brain. She sounds pissed off that he’s apparently late, but, for the life of him, John doesn’t remember making any plans with her for this evening. Last thing he remembers is leaving a message on her voicemail what seems like a century ago. It’s hard to reconcile making that call to her at midday and the shift in his world that’s happened since. That’s Justin for you, though. He’s always been a wildcard, as paradoxically unpredictable as he is reliable. John has honestly lost track of how many times Justin has surprised him, not because he was acting out of character, but because his character is just such a deviation from the grubby, self-centred norm.

Justin.

Justin, Justin, Justin.

There’s no space in his head for anything else.

“I’m sorry,” he says, falling back on good manners in his bafflement, “did- did we, um…?”

“No,” Mary replies at once. The annoyance in her tone has been replaced by uncertainty. “I’m sorry, it’s a joke.” Her arms drop back to her sides and give an awkward shrug. “Kind of a bad joke. It’s just, I tried to call, you know, you tried to call, then I tried to call and…”

John stares at her. He knows he should cut off her rambling because there’s still no space in his head for this conversation, and he knows now that the space in his heart can’t be given away to Mary, not when he’s just been shown the claim that Justin has on it.

Mary continues talking in lieu of a reply from him. “Look, um, okay, so last night… It was… I don’t know what it was. Um, but it was… it was…”

Beyond ineloquent, but John understands her. It _was_ something. There was a spark with Mary and the night they passed together held the promise of a fresh start. Another dusty church, another exchange of vows, another ring.

But it was only that — a spark. And there’s a fire on offer elsewhere. One that’s blazed for him in unassuming silence for years, it would seem.

“It was,” he tells her, as gently as he knows how, “but I don’t think it would work out between us.”

Just like that, the spark is snuffed out. Mary’s hopeful expression fades. “Oh. That’s… that’s not what I was expecting. Wow. Okay.”

Better to let her down now than to do it a thousand times over in the future, John thinks as he remembers Zoe’s face, changing from disappointed to furious to resigned with each denial of her requests for him to take his accrued annual leave, to come home earlier, to leave the gore and the grief at the front door with his coat.

Mary would just be another chapter in the same sad story.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Last night was great, it really was, but…”

_You’ll end up hating me. You’ll never understand like he can. You’ll never love me like he does._

“Is there someone else?” Mary asks when he can’t finish the sentence. She wraps her arms around herself and gazes up at him with mournful eyes.

There is. Or there could be. He owes it to himself and to Justin to find out. After all, the love for him is there — it’s sitting in his coat pocket at this very moment, and he’s witnessed it countless times over the years.

The request made and chased up three times a week in writing for nine whole months. _Are you all right?_ and _Have you eaten anything?_ A steadfast heart and the reluctant fist that cracked one of the ribs protecting it. The marksman pushed out of the way at the right moment and a shout to _run_. Proud shoulders filling out a cheap uniform in the bowels of some run-down police station. Deleted history on a superior’s computer and no questions asked.

There always has been someone else. He just didn’t recognise it until he held the tangible evidence in his hand tonight, until he heard the testimony from that accented voice he knows so well.

“Yes,” John says simply, because it’s true, and he’s tired of all the lies. Not just to others, but to himself.

It’s written on one of the postcards that adorns his mantelpiece: _The first principle is that you must not fool yourself, and you are the easiest person to fool._

He sure is that.

“Oh,” Mary says again, a tremor to her voice.

“I’m sorry,” John says. He really is. “You can do better than me.”

Justin can too. John Luther just so happens to be a lucky bastard, because Justin shows no inclination to try, no matter how many reasons John has given him to.

“Yeah,” Mary says, nodding. She sniffs twice, but her eyes are dry. “Thanks. You know what? I definitely can.”

And with that said, she turns around, gets back into her car, and drives away. John feels only relief at the sight and knows he’s done the right thing.

He’s digging his thumb into the power button on his phone to call Benny when another car comes around the corner and takes the place of Mary’s. The headlights blinding him go dark as the driver shuts off the engine and then John recognises both the car and the person at the wheel.

Justin.

Relief fills him and John strides over to the driver’s side door just as Justin opens it to get out.

“John,” Justin implores the moment his feet touch the ground and he’s drawn himself up to his full height. “Listen to me, please, I didn’t—”

“I know,” John says. He reaches out with both hands and grips Justin’s shoulders, realises that, apart from that one brief hug after Justin was kidnapped, he’s barely touched him in all the time they’ve known each other. That’s another thing to put right.

He looks Justin over with fresh eyes and fondness swells in his chest at the familiarity of him. There’s a strange sweetness to his curly hair and his crooked, obviously-broken nose, his red-rimmed doe eyes, the dimples that form beside his lips and the few moles dotted above his jawline.

He is, in a word, lovable.

Unaware of John’s assessment of him, Justin still looks worried as he shakes his head vehemently. “No, hear me out. I was only there to—”

“Justin.”

John lets his voice soften on the name, eyelids dropping a little, corners of his mouth curving up into a smile. The tenderness Justin inspires in him has to show in his face, it has to. He raises his hands higher on Justin’s shoulders until his thumbs can run down the sides of his neck.

Justin’s mouth parts in response, but no sound comes out. He’s surprised and, if John’s reading him right, wistful too. It’s something of a revelation that he definitely _wants_ to be reading that right.

“I heard you,” John tells him. He lifts one hand from Justin’s shoulder to reach into his pocket for the dictaphone, then holds it aloft between them. Typical Justin — he’s brave enough to hold John’s stare throughout, though his eyes drift down to John’s mouth just once before flicking back up. “I heard every word.”

There’s a quiet clicking noise in the ensuing silence as Justin swallows, throat bobbing beneath John’s left thumb. Because he can, because he wants to, John strokes over that patch of skin once more and feels a giddy thrill at the rasp of stubble there, at the knowledge that he’s touching another man intimately for the first time in decades after he left the shame-filled fumbles of his teenage years behind. What would dear old mum and dad say to him now, eh?

“I meant it,” Justin says and his voice comes out faint, but no less earnest for that.

“I know. Thank you.”

That gets a slight grimace and a shake of Justin’s head. “You don’t need to thank me.”

“I think I do. I think there’s a whole lot I need to thank you for.”

Justin’s wide eyes gleam, his lips part again, and it’s so clearly the right moment that John gives into it. He sways forward and dips his head—

And Justin chooses that same moment to wrench himself out of John’s hold and turns his back on him.

“You don’t have to thank me like this,” he says bitterly, shoulders hunched. “Well done for figuring it out, by the way. I knew you’d catch on eventually, DCI Luther.”

“Justin—”

Justin spins to face him again, features drawn in a frown so severe that it looks almost painful on him. “Seriously, boss. Don’t. My continued loyalty doesn’t have a price tag attached, all right?”

“Is that what you think? I’m trying to buy your silence? You really think that’s something I’d do? To you?”

“No, I…” Justin shakes his head, jaw clenching along with his hands at his sides. “It’s just… he asked me. Stark. Wanted to know if my ‘romantic yearnings’ were the reason I was defending you. And I’ll tell you the same as I told him: that’s not how it is. So let’s just forget this, yeah? I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight like always and we’ll just go back to—”

“What if I don’t want to forget? Hmm? What if I can’t just go inside now and go to bed and pretend that I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” Ever his caretaker, Justin’s hard expression melts into one of concern.

John takes a deep breath and lets the truth come out on the exhale. “That I don’t want you to come in with me, because you’re the only one, Justin, the _only one_ in this whole fucked-up world that hasn’t left me.”

Dad’s in the ground now. Mum’s back in Sierra Leone with the family he’s never met. He lost Zoe long before his closest friend tried to frame him for her murder, long before she _met someone_ in Mark North. Jenny sends him the odd e-mail every now and then, when she remembers. And Alice… well, Alice could be anywhere in the world, doing whatever she pleases. There’s a whole alphabet of countries for her to discover without him.

He doesn’t begrudge Jenny and Alice their freedom, far from it. But that’s not to say that their going away didn’t hurt.

“I won’t leave you,” Justin says. He gives a sad little smile that drops quickly. “I’m not going anywhere, me. But what you just said… it’s not a good enough reason for us to do this. You see that, right? I want- I _need_ to be first choice, not the only option left.”

“That’s not what I—” John raises his eyes skyward at the irony of it all, certain as usual that if there is a higher power, it exists only to mock him. “You know, if you’d turned up just five minutes earlier, you’d have seen me turning down a very pretty young woman I met recently by the name of Mary Day. I know I’m getting on a bit, Justin, but trust me, I do have more than one option.”

The attempt at levity doesn’t make Justin laugh, but it doesn’t anger him either. If anything, he just looks hunted, as conflicted as John’s ever seen him, and John's been the cause of a _lot_ of conflict for him.

Shouldn’t it all be easier than this? John really thought it would be, and here’s Justin, surprising him yet again. He should feel frustrated by that, but the thought just sends a rush of warmth through his veins and that’s his confirmation right there: he’s a goner for this one.

Really, if this _isn’t_ love, then it’s the closest he’s come without hitting the mark and, on the balance of probability, it just seems too unlikely that he's not struck the bullseye here with Justin. So if that’s the case and if it’s the same for Justin with him, he needs to _make_ this easy.

“Come here,” he says, all too aware of the smile in his tone and the fluttering in his stomach.

“What?”

“Come here,” John repeats slowly, making a walking motion with his fingers in the air between them. “Come on.”

Justin’s eyes narrow at him in wariness. It’s adorable. _He’s_ adorable. “Why?”

“Because I’m gonna kiss you now if you’re ready to stop playing hard to get.”

Justin huffs a startled laugh at that and some of the tension in his shoulders finally bleeds away. “I don’t play—”

“Not ready, then,” John notes with a grin. “No matter.”

His long legs make quick work of the meagre distance between them and Justin goes silent at once when there are only inches separating them. He looks up at John, defiant to the last, but John can more than meet the challenge in his eyes.

He takes Justin’s face in his hands, tilts him upwards as he bends down, and presses their foreheads together. Their noses brush and John's heart beats hard and fast against his rib cage, anxious to be let out.

“Are you done?” he asks, breathless with their proximity. Up close like this, he can catch the lingering hint of Justin’s aftershave and the fruitier scent of whatever he uses on his hair. Something with strawberries, maybe. It requires further investigation.

“Not by a long shot,” Justin murmurs, and then he’s wrapping his arms around John’s neck and pulling him down into a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

>  _And then they spent an excellent, athletic night together and the next morning it was Justin in John's over-sized shirt and then nothing bad happened on the Tom Marwood case, nope, they just caught him and then lived happily ever after. The End._
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you liked it and you're into this ship still, I'd be so pleased if you left a comment to tell me <3
> 
> Also I'm on [tumblr](http://angst-wizard.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to be friends :D


End file.
